


Path of Hearts: Eglantine and Tiran

by DAfan7711



Series: Andromeda [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: BioWare romances, Decimus we can do this Ryder, Eglantine the future is ours Ryder, F/M, Happy Ending, Mass Effect romances, Mass Effect: Andromeda romances, Ryder twins (Mass Effect), Turians, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 04:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: When they left the Milky Way, Eglantine Ryder hadn’t expected to be Pathfinder, Tiran Kandros hadn’t expected to take command of the Nexus militia, and neither of them was looking for love. With the turian ark missing and war threatening the survival of everyone in the Initiative, can a turian and a human reconcile their differences and find lasting peace?





	1. Archangel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JohskatheWise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohskatheWise/gifts).



> SPOILER ALERT: This story includes major story spoilers for Mass Effect: Andromeda.
> 
> This takes place after the events of the short story titled [First Contact: Decimus and Jaal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10544542). Rated Teen for swearing and mature themes. Sex scenes are fade-to-black.
> 
> Path of Hearts is dedicated to [JohskatheWise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JohskatheWise/profile). Thank you for your lovely comments on First Contact.
> 
> Thank you to AKAtheCAT for feedback on the title photo.
> 
> And thank you to my housemate for reading through the first draft. The world is better with you in it, Battle Master.

 

Tiran closed the door on his private quarters and slumped down into his desk chair to take off his armor. It had been an impulsive decision to invite Decimus Ryder to lead an APEX squad, and he was relieved Ryder had turned him down. Tiran didn’t want to have to explain it to the Pathfinder if her brother died on his watch.

Tiran appreciated how there was a certain admiration in how she looked at him every time they spoke. Not a come hither or hero worship look, just . . . something special. He’d thought he imagined it the first time, like the relief of finding a living Pathfinder had gone to his head, after so many months of despair, so much Nexus conflict. But she’d looked at him like that every time since.

Later, he’d read the official field reports, and some classified entries he wasn’t supposed to have. She was the exact opposite of a good turian: putting herself at risk for the smallest of helpless strangers they found along the way, instead of letting her subordinates protect her at all costs.

Hierarchy, then platoon; then, if time allowed, you saved your squadmate. That was the turian way. Protect the Pathfinder at all costs.

She took it all and turned it upside down.

Not that anything had been right side up since they’d arrived in Andromeda.

He eyed the single dextro ration packet and bottle of filtered water on the corner of his desk. Portions were even tighter now for the turians, with Ark Natanus missing. The humans had found some soil on Eos where they could raise food for themselves, despite the harsh sun and sands—even some familiar seeds had made the centuries-long journey on their ark. But no other livable environment they’d found so far was dextro-friendly, even if the turians’ ark, people, and seeds hadn’t been missing.

A brisk tap on the door roused him from his dour thoughts.

“It’s open.”

Eglantine came in, smiling shyly. “I’ve brought you Turian brandy and some crunchy dextro goodies, courtesy of Vetra Nyx.”

He briefly wondered what he’d done to warrant a “courtesy” from the gray market dealer.

“Thank you, Pathfinder. Would you like to sit?”

“Thanks,” her smile brightened and she sat in the chair across the desk from him. It looked like she was here for a job interview. He wished he had a couch or living room—even a kitchenette—he could offer her instead.

“It’s nice in your office. Everywhere else on the Nexus is cold as a tomb.” She pulled off her sweatshirt and draped it over the back of her chair.

She wore a blue and silver tee shirt underneath, with a logo that had caused quite a stir with Palaven Command.

“Is that an _Archangel_ symbol on the back of your shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“But he was a _vigilante_! No honor, no respons—”

“He was a _hero_ , Tiran.” Fist clenched, mouth set, she grabbed up her sweatshirt and yanked it back on over her head and crossed her arms over her chest. She sat down hard enough to make the chair scrape back along the floor with a screech.

“Dec and I spent a lot of time on Omega just before we left. We weren’t exactly welcome on the Citadel after Dad’s AI research came to light. The little people of Omega loved Archangel. Needed him. As much as they needed the free clinic.

“And if you can’t respect the part of me that gives a flying fuck for the little people . . .” She trailed off with a shrug, glaring at the floor.

Alarm bells rang distantly in Tiran’s head, but he didn’t pause to listen. “Archangel answered to no one, except those who killed him. What kind of example—”

“ _I_ answer to no one here, Kandros,” she leapt up from her chair. “Do you realize this? The burden is mine. _I_ have to find a way for _everyone_ to survive. And all you people do is bitch about it. You had fourteen months to work on the problem and what happens? A coup, exiles, an inexcusable mistreatment of and break with the krogan, and two failed colonies on one planet—probably because tight-assed Addison.

“Most of that’s on leadership, and I appreciate how you got the militia back in shape when the position was thrust upon you, but as far as I can see, the fate of every Milky Way race and person here is solely in my camp now.”

Her hands shook.

He hadn’t realized how stressed she was. And she was right. The few positive things he said to her were far outweighed by the constant judgement. The pointed questions. Not just Addison’s, or Tann’s. His, too.

“I don’t even know why I came here tonight,” she grumbled, striding for the door. “I’ve got shit to do on the Tempest.”

Panic constricted his chest. He’d never imagined she’d look at him with anything other than a smile.

“E, please wait!” He cringed, realizing too late that he’d used her twin’s nickname for her. Such an odd and endearing human habit, but he didn’t have the privilege.

She slowed and turned, glaring at him, but listening.

“I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right: You don’t owe us anything and we owe you everything.” He slowly rose from his desk, scared that he’d spook her into running.

“You’re right: Archangel got his name for a reason—a good reason. Can we—can we start this conversation over? Please? I have beer to offer: Denorian beer and some human beer. Sorry, I don’t recall the brand off the top of my head. Please?”

Her frown faded. “I don’t drink,” she said softly.

“Hot chocolate?” he offered.

“You have cocoa? And sugar?” Her face lit up.

“Yes!” He sighed in relief and offered her his most comfortable chair.


	2. Touch

It was late on the Tempest, but there was nowhere else Tiran wanted to be. Eglantine’s ship had the quiet, dim hush of those used to working while letting others sleep. He rarely had the chance to work in a small group or one-on-one with someone, and most meetings on the Nexus could be overheard by anyone. Catching a quiet, productive moment with Eglantine and her new angaran ally was the most enjoyable thing he’d done since leaving the Milky Way.

Her meeting room was an open circular platform overlooking the research center and a few offices that were closed off with automatic doors. The other side of the room was a wall of windows overlooking the deep darkness of space. Tiny pricks of cold white light showed distant stars in constellations unknown to him. Everything in Andromeda was new, including Eglantine.

Sometimes he thought about how he’d never have met her if he’d stayed in the Milky Way. On those nights, he couldn’t sleep.

Never know the engineer with biotic skills who would pay a month’s wages just for a bag of Nyx’s contraband Cheetos? Never know the woman who shot Cerberus scientists in the head without flinching, yet cried over a wild animal found dead on the road?

She’d shown him there was more to life than duty. Whatever his responsibilities, life would be meaningless without her.

What if she didn’t feel the same way about him? Yes, she’d shared a drink and strategized with him, but was it because of his position? On Palaven, you didn’t ask. There was nothing beyond your position. Here . . . He did not know.

Tonight they reviewed the joint angara and Initiative training missions. Even with Jaal’s slow, rolling speech, they moved along faster than any Nexus leadership meeting ever had. The angara was swiftly learning all he could of their weapons and tactics. While his people claimed everything was about emotions, their strategies weren’t different than turians’: honor above self, hit the enemy hard wherever and whenever you can. The angara were as passionate as turians when it came to war, and he and Jaal had yet to disagree about anything.

Despite the late hour, tiredness wasn’t what made Tiran’s mind wander from the task at hand. He wondered if Eglantine liked Jaal’s exotic accent. Jaal was always smiling at her, touching her elbow, her hand, her shoulder. And she responded in kind. Tiran and Eglantine hadn’t spent much time together, but he hadn’t seen her open with anyone else like that, not even her brother, Decimus.

“That’s great, Jaal.” Eglantine said, setting aside weapon schematics. “Tell the ambassador I’d be happy to test it in the field the next trip to Kadara.

“Ugh, it’s late.” She rubbed her eyes and the back of her neck, which was bare because she always had her hair up in that tight bun that was so popular with Alliance veterans.

Tiran was across the table from her, but knew an irregular tan birthmark covered her neck there. He’d watched her walk away from the APEX office enough times to have every visible bit of her memorized, from the cute little mole on her forearm—she always had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows—to the way her heel-toe stride carried her down the hallway like a queen.

With a sigh, she reached up and removed the black plastic clip from her hair. That clip wasn’t regulation. It’d break the first time her helmet took a hit. He may have read the Alliance handbook after the first time they met, looking for any way to bolster her advantage when she was out on APEX missions. He may also have spent a little longer than was necessary reviewing human female customs in the Nexus database.

She massaged her bun loose and her hair flowed down in blonde waves just past her shoulders.

Tiran’s breath caught in his chest. He’d not known how long it was.

Movement beside her caught his eye and Tiran whipped out his sidearm without thinking.

Fascinated, Jaal was reaching for Eglantine’s hair.

“Freeze,” Tiran growled.

The angara slowly raised his hands above his head, chin tilted down to look at Tiran over his monocle with an amused smile.

“It’s okay, Tiran,” Eglantine said gently. “Touching is a common angara custom. He doesn’t mean disrespect.”

Tiran slowly lowered and holstered his weapon, watching with growing discomfort as Eglantine let Jaal rub a few strands of her hair between his bare purple fingers. Like turians, he had three-fingered hands, but they were bigger, stronger, softer, and without talons.

More suited to touch a human.

“I did not know your hairs did that,” Jaal said. “The other humans’ are so short. And regimented. Except for Liam’s. His is special.”

Eglantine laughed. “You’ve not seen many humans, Jaal. I think there’s a boutique on the Nexus specializing in natural hair care. I’ll have to ask Liam to take you out there before we leave tomorrow.”

Tiran’s heart lurched in his chest. A few hours from now, she’d be on her way again, fighting Kett and looking for uninhabited worlds to terraform.

Jaal dropped his hand and she winked at him. “If Decimus’ hair goes two weeks without cutting, he gets these cute little curls at the nape of his neck. You should ask him.”

The angara’s low chuckle was annoyingly sexy. “I may do that.”

“Hey,” Decimus’ bleary voice rose up from below. “You ever coming to bed?”

Tiran peered over the railing. Yawning, the other Ryder twin leaned a shoulder on the frame of a now-open door. Apparently, offices were doubling as bunks. Decimus’ short blond hair was mussed in various angles. Barefoot, he wore the white dress slacks of the Alliance Navy’s uniform for formal occasions, and a sleeveless Blasto tee shirt that showed off muscular shoulders nearly as broad as the angara’s. It was odd seeing him untidy. On the Nexus, he was always more put together than his casual sister.

“Yes, dearest,” Jaal called down. “Good night, Captain Kandros. E.”

Jaal went down the winding staircase to Decimus’ side. The human got up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and the two disappeared behind the automatic door.

Tiran felt stupid. Violent. Wrong. How could he compete with grace, humor, and affection? Sure, he’d seen Jaal with Decimus, but Eglantine met new angara every day. She had their soft, passionate strength constantly at her side. She didn’t need a rough turian distracting her from her new life.

“I should go,” he said, gathering up his datapads and heading for the stairs. “Godspeed, Pathfinder.”

“Tiran,” she softly called him to a halt.

He turned.

She held out a five-fingered bare, white hand, flushed pink, palm up in offering. He cautiously stepped back toward her, placed his gloved talons in her hand. She removed his glove gently, placed a handful of her hair in his palm for him to feel.

“It means something different when it’s you,” she said.

He was struck mute.

She smiled and raised her other hand to his mandible, massaged his dry skin with the soft pads of her fingers, sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

“I know it’s not the turian way, but I’d like to try something,” she said.

“Yes,” he croaked out, not knowing or caring what it was, just as long as she kept touching him.

She went up on her tiptoes, slid her hand around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss. That’s what humans called it. Her strong, smooth lips pressed against his and he gasped.

“Is that okay?” she asked, searching his eyes.

How could someone so gentle catch him so thoroughly?

“Yes, better than okay.”

She smiled. “It’s late. Want to crash in my cabin?”

“Crash?” The only crashing he knew about involved injured pilots.

“Stay. Sleep. ‘Crash.’”

“Oh,” he laughed. “I’d love to.”

He followed her down the curving steps, along the clear glass walkway toward the stern of the ship, down the ladder by the galley, and into the Pathfinder’s cabin, an impressive stretch of space with as many windows as the ship’s bridge.

“Welcome, Captain Kandros,” a blue circular hologram popped up above a desk in the corner. The Pathfinder’s local router to the SAM artificial intelligence. The main server was housed on the humans' Ark Hyperion.

Tiran had momentarily forgotten about Eglantine’s implant that allowed SAM to constantly monitor her health. Standard for any Pathfinder, but still a bit weird, considering the prohibitions against AI research in the Milky Way.

“SAM, you can go into sleep mode until the morning shift.”

“Very well, Pathfinder.” The hologram disappeared.

“Alone at last,” Eglantine sighed and wrapped her arms around Tiran’s neck, resting her forehead against his cool armored chest plate.

He hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around her waist. She was so small and fragile, but he had no trouble envisioning her hitting a Fiend with incinerate and biotically charging it in the face. Kosta had caught some vids and shared them with everyone in the security office. It had made Tiran’s heart stop with fear the first time he’d seen it, but that had been quickly surpassed by pride. The Pathfinder was just as determined to make their way in Andromeda as he was.

“Tiran?” Her arms tightened around him.

“Yes?”

“I want to make love with you, but I’m too tired to do you justice. Maybe in the morning? Can I just hold you?” she mumbled into his chest.

He looked over her head, toward the bed. On the bedside table was an orange glowing clock radio—such an odd human custom, the clock, radio, and watch, when they all had omni-tools anyway. Next to it was a distinct little blue box with a white logo. Turian condoms.

He nearly choked. Not ten minutes ago he’d thought she couldn’t possibly be interested in him. Now it looked like she’d been making very specific plans for intimacy. With _him_.

“Tiran?” she looked up, brow creased with worry.

“Shh,” he kissed her forehead and she sighed in contentment. “I’d love to hold you, too.”

She helped him remove his armor and shirt. He helped her out of her shirt and some weird satin contraption she called a bra. “You didn’t really think human woman were naturally shaped like that, did you?” she giggled.

They sat side by side on the bed to take off his boots and her ‘sneakers.’ “You should see me in angara armor,” she mused sleepily. “It makes my ass look great.”

She still wore her jeans, so he left his pants on as well.

She flopped back on the bed with a sigh, arms outstretched. “Sorry I need to shave.”

He didn’t understand what that had to do with ‘crashing.’

“Been too busy running for my life this week to get around to it.”

“Aren’t humans supposed to have hair?” He crawled up next to her, helped her scooch up so her legs weren’t dangling over the edge of the bed.

“Well, yeah, but it grosses some people out if a woman doesn’t keep bare underarms and legs.”

“Idiots,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, eyes closed, reaching out for his hand.

He lay on his side, Eglantine curled into his chest. Instead of shying away from his dry skin and natural hardplate, she cuddled her face into his chest.

“Tiran,” she sighed.

“Yes?”

But she was asleep.

He pulled the quilt up around their shoulders and ran his talons idly through her hair. This was his first true moment of peace since arriving in Andromeda, and he wanted to stay awake for it. Listening to steady breathing of the woman he loved.

-

As the day shift began, artificial sunlight grew from the overhead lamps in the Pathfinder’s cabin. Eglantine groaned and wrapped her arms tighter around Tiran. Even if she was awake enough to perform, would he still want her in the bright light of day?

Her door whooshed open and Tiran sat bolt upright, dragging her along with him, since she refused to let go.

“Hey, E, the Moshae—uh!” Decimus turned around, dragging Jaal with him and putting a hand over Jaal’s eyes. “Really, Eglantine? Kandros?”

She rolled out of bed and yanked her tee shirt back on without a bra underneath. So much for a morning of lovemaking.

“Talk smack about us to anyone and I’ll shove my eezo-toed boot up your ass, Decimus. Don’t think I won’t.”

The twins sighed in tandem.

“Sorry, E. Shoulda knocked.”

And what the hell was wrong with SAM, unlocking her door for her brother without asking first?

“Yeah. Well, I’m awake now. What’s up?”

Jaal brushed Decimus’ hand aside and grinned at Tiran, who silently came to stand by her side. Even with Tiran’s bare gray chest and feet, and not counting his crest-like fringe that flowed back from his head, he stood taller than the angara.

“The Moshae,” Jaal said, “is ready to open the Aya vault. She welcomes your assistance, and that of your SAM, to stabilize the atmosphere-controlling tech.”

Her heart sank down into her stomach. It was an important step toward their survival, but it also meant they’d garner more attention from the Kett’s Archon. The war was about to get worse.

“When?” she asked Decimus.

“Gil says we can be good to go in two hours. Vetra says one. They’re haggling over a fuel pump part on the Nexus now.”

“Okay, everyone meet me on the bridge at ten-hundred hours. We depart then.”

Decimus grinned. “I’ll pass the message on to everyone, shall I?” He winked and dragged Jaal out of the room.

Her irritation lasted only half a second before she remembered she had Tiran _here_ , all to herself.

“SAM, lock the door and turn yourself off for an hour.”

“Yes, Pathfinder.”

She turned to find Tiran looking at her warily. “I should go.”

“If that’s what you want. But I don’t need to leave for another two hours, and I’m free, if you’d like to spend one with me.”

He sighed in relief and smiled, reaching for her waist. “I’d like that.”

She pushed him back to sit on the bed and knelt straddling his lap, the seam of her jeans rubbing between them. “Let me show you just how awake I am now, Kandros.”

“Please do, Pathfinder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cerberus scientists line is a reference to the disturbing Andromeda quest "Mind Games," for which there was no satisfactory conclusion for me: The three options were to turn the mind control device against the former Cerberus scientists as punishment (this does not cure the original victims), to alter the signal to ease the original victims' symptoms but they'll still need constant care, or to do nothing and walk away. Whatever you choose, you gain a small amount of AVP and +2% Kadara Viability, and the victims are screwed.


	3. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT: Major story spoilers for the Ryder Family Secrets quest. Spoilers for the Sleeping Dragons quest.

Eglantine tossed her helmet on the shelf, barely noticing the hiss of the Tempest airlock, or Tiran stepping out of it. She hadn’t expected him, and her blood pressure was so high, she might not have remembered if she had been expecting him.

“Son of a bitch!” Eglantine punched her weapons locker, bruising her joints and splitting open the skin over her knuckles. The throbbing sting was preferable to this canyon-sized gouge inside her heart. “Ow, damn.”

“Eglantine!” Tiran rushed up and grabbed her hand to halt her second punch. “What are you doing?!”

“God-damned son of a bitch.”

“Who? What happened?”

“My fucking father, Kandros, that’s what happened. Selfish bastard put Mom in cryo instead of letting her die with dignity. She’d made her peace, served her time in pain. We’d all fucking mourned already. Then the damned cowboy gets himself killed—

“She’s going to be so pissed when she wakes up. The great almighty Pathfinder only saved my life because he didn’t want her to wake up with a dead kid. He risked _everything_ , _everyone_ , just to draw out her life. He put the entire Initiative in danger. If we win this war, if we find someplace to live, but have to open cryo before there’s a cure, then we’re going to have to watch her die in agony all fucking over again!

“Stupid fuck,” she muttered, sucking on one of her bleeding knuckles. The blood tasted awful, like lies.

“Don’t do that,” Tiran pulled her hand away from her mouth. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Decimus is devastated. He’s just sitting on the floor in front of her pod, staring at it like he’s scared someone’s going to open it and kill her, Jaal hovering around him like one of those worried angaran mothers.

“I think Harry’s figured out ‘Elizabeth Reilly’ is really Ellen Ryder, but he’s keeping hush about it, steering people clear of that part of the cryo bay so they don’t stumble over Decimus and start asking questions.

“Seriously, Tiran, what kind of alias is Elizabeth Reilly anyway? E. R.? Rei-lly? Ry-der? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out—ow!”

She looked down, finally aware that Tiran still held her hand. He’d pulled a first aid kit out of the locker and was cleaning her knuckles with an antiseptic wipe.

He was the sexiest field nurse she’d ever seen.

“Lexi’s going to lecture me for an hour about damaging my hand.”

“I don’t know. Once the wound’s clean, we can put some medi-gel on it and the joints should be fine. No reason to report it.”

She chuckled, the anger slipping away as a different kind of excitement bubbled up in her stomach. “And what’s the price of your silence, Captain Kandros?”

He pulled her closer, pinning her arm between their armored chests. His mandible tickled her ear, sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. “Nothing you don’t want to give.”

“Kill. Me. Now.” Kallo’s pinched salarian voice echoed around the corner.

“You know we can all hear you up here in the cockpit,” Vetra chimed in.

“Heh, _cockpit_ ,” Peebee giggled. “Get it, Suvi?”

“ _Peebee_!” The scientist sounded scandalized. “That’s _private_.”

“I’ve got an hour,” Eglantine whispered in Tiran’s ear. “Want to spend it with me?”

He squeezed her ass, careful not to poke her with his talons. He always knew exactly where and how to push to make her thighs quake with want. “I’ll go slow, make every second count.”

Laughing, she dragged him to her cabin to make good on his promise.

-

The day was so long and Tiran was so tired. All of his APEX strike teams had returned to base, but only the asari had made it in and out as planned, unscathed. His newest, human-only team had returned with two soldiers limping, one unconscious, and only half the sensitive materials they’d been sent to recover before the Kett got their hands on it. He didn’t know if he should take comfort in the knowledge that it had been Outlaw pirates to grab the prize instead of the Kett. Tiran had a sneaky suspicion that one or more of his strike team agents had taken a bribe to give the pirates the navpoint ahead of time. He didn’t have proof yet, and he didn’t want to burden Eglantine with another worry. He’d deal with it in the morning.

He had one last task he couldn’t let rest before he crashed on the cot in his office: He’d received an urgent e-mail from Addison’s cryo-release assistant, Vladimir Brecka, reporting excessive authorizations for early deployments.

The Nexus Operations center was dark except for a few terminals glowing with blue and orange lights. Eglantine was there alone, bent over one, typing in release access codes.

He leapt forward and hit the cancellation key before she could hit submit. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Releasing the soldiers’ families from cryo,” she said, clearly confused by his anger. “Isn’t that what everyone wants? That’s my job now, Tiran, doing what everyone wants. A Pathfinder has to help everyone.”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “I thought you said we didn’t have enough resources to open those pods. You didn’t want everyone to starve.”

She blinked at him, quiet.

Anger sparked in his chest and he swallowed it down. He still had to work with her even if she’d never smile at him again. With a sharp pang of regret, he turned away.

“If you’ll excuse me, Pathfinder, I have other duties.”

Her voice boomed across the empty Nexus. “Oh, no, Tiran Kandros, you don’t get to turn your back on me!” she shouted, voice distorted as it bounced off the steel walls. “Those are _your_ people, _your_ militia families causing trouble and we can’t afford another coup.”

“But _you’re_ the one who said no at the leadership meeting, before I even—”

They _had_ held a meeting about this, and agreed. It had been unanimous, with no contrary discussion—a first in Nexus history. She’d supported Tiran’s deployment of more security forces to disperse protestors in front of the cryo bay. When they should have been celebrating the establishment of Prodromos, they were upset that scientists had been woken first for the new settlement instead of more soldiers.

Eglantine had agreed with him. She’d refused to risk everyone’s survival just because the protestors were angry. He’d pull up the security footage and remind her.

He turned back, but she was gone.

“Eglantine?”

The console went dark.

“Eglantine?”

He was alone with his own voice in Nexus Operations.

The remaining lights went out all at once, along with the hvac fans. No fans meant no fresh oxygen. They would all die within hours.

It was black as space with no stars.

The emergency lighting on his armor refused to start. Hands shaking, Tiran pulled a glow stick from his belt pouch and broke it. That wouldn’t light either.

He cautiously stepped toward the stairs, hands outstretched, searching for the guardrail.

Panic clutched him. He had to get Eglantine out of here and back on the Tempest before they ran out of air.

“E! Where are you?!”

“Harrump,” she muttered into his chest, pulling him from the nightmare.

They lay in her bed on the Tempest, the day shift still hours away.

His cheeks were damp. Blue turian tears stained her white pillow case. He shuddered and gasped for breath, wrapping himself tighter around her.

“Shh,” she sleepily soothed a hand over his fringe, easing his nerves. “Dreaming. It’s done. Sleep more.”

“Could we—could we have a light on?” he asked.

Without letting him go, she reached behind herself with her other arm and flicked on the little orange clock light.

“Thanks.”

She kissed his dry, bony chest and drifted off again.

It took him a while to fall asleep.

When he woke, her good morning smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.


	4. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content includes references to stillbirth and the genophage. [FTL](http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/FTL) = Faster-than-light travel.
> 
> SPOILER ALERT: Major spoilers for the Kadara storyline (Eglantine does not think well of Sloane or Reyes) and Nakmor Drack: A Future for Our People.

Back before her first trip to Kadara Port, Eglantine had been determined to give Sloane Kelly the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the exiled former head of Nexus Security really had been looking to save lives and was just another victim of circumstance.

That was before Eglantine had seen people beaten in the streets in Sloane’s name: Her underlings had been ruthless when collecting ‘protection’ money from the residents. Back before they’d betrayed Sloane, killed her turian boyfriend, and left a note on his body demanding a secret meeting with the Charlatan, the anonymous leader of the Collective fighting Sloane for control of the port.

Eglantine had been shocked when Sloane had asked for help, but the Pathfinder needed to get the violence under control if they were going to establish an outpost there. An alliance with Kadara Port was crucial.

Nexus rations wouldn’t last forever. They really needed this outpost.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked Sloane outside a sketchy, dank cave miles away from Kadara Port. “I mean, after what they did to Kaetus, I don’t know that the four of us will be enough.”

“ _I’m_ enough,” Drack boasted, crossing his meaty krogan arms across his massive chest. The giant bones on his armor sent long shadows in the waning afternoon sunlight.

“Of course you are, big guy,” Vetra said. “Thanks for letting us tag along.”

Eglantine was infinitely grateful to have Vetra and Drack as backup. She half expected Sloane to stab her in the back the minute this fiasco was over.

The leader of the Outcasts glared at Eglantine. “You didn’t see what the Charlatan had _my_ people do to Kaetus. His body was a right mess. That kind of evil needs to be tackled head-on. I can’t cower back in the city. I get the Charlatan in line, or I get him dead. Those are the only options for bringing the port back under control. The people need me to do this.” She fingered her holster. “I’ll go first.”

“SAM?” Eglantine whispered.

“I detect no explosives,” the AI answered on their private channel, so only she could hear. “Multiple unidentifiable life forms are in the area, but not close.”

“Be ready for anything,” Eglantine told her friends, and followed Sloane into the cave.

“Right on time,” Reyes Vidal stepped from the shadows with a smile that made Eglantine feel like she’d swallowed a ball of grease. “But, then, the Pathfinder is always on time. Did you miss Shena?”

He winked, like he had at that damned party he’d dragged Eglantine to, just before he’d tried to kiss her and she’d punched him in the stomach and left. She wished she’d punched him harder.

Using a cover was something Eglantine could understand, but the son of a bitch had done worse than lie to her about his identity: the beating of Kaetus proved that. It didn’t matter whether Reyes had delivered the killing blow himself. He had given the order.

“Son of a bitch,” Vetra said.

Drack pulled out his shotgun. “I knew you were dirty.”

Sloane sauntered forward. “I didn’t come to banter with a minion. Where is the Charlatan?”

“He _is_ the Charlatan,” Eglantine growled out. “I was just too dense to put the clues together.”

Reyes shrugged with false modesty. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Pathfinder. You are a very busy woman, after all.”

“Your note said you wanted to bargain,” Sloane said. “That Kaetus’ death could be the last murder in Kadara Port.”

“Ah, yes,” Reyes dropped the smile and turned to Sloane. “I propose a duel, you and me, winner takes all.”

“A duel?” Eglantine asked. “Seriously? You want to solve this by shooting each other?”

“Yes,” Reyes said, “One death to save many.”

“I can get behind those terms,” Sloane said.

“Huh,” Drack grunted, holstering his weapon.

Eglantine sighed and took a step back. She was fucking tired of all this death. Waiting on the sidelines to watch somebody shoot another somebody just made it worse.

Vetra gave her elbow a reassuring squeeze.

Sloane Kelly, fingers dancing above her holstered pistol, and Reyes Vidal, arms lax at his sides, circled each other in the tight, dim quarters of the cave.

“Sniper,” SAM said on the Pathfinder’s private channel. “His sights are set on Sloane.”

Eglantine saw the glint off the scope, had to make a decision.

“Do you want Kadara?” she asked Vetra in a quick undertone.

“What?”

“If Sloane and Reyes were gone, would you want to run Kadara?”

“ _No!_ ” Vetra hissed back, just as quietly.

A rifle shot broke the tense silence, making Eglantine’s choice for her.

Sloane Kelly gurgled, fell to her knees, eyes wide.

“Bang,” Reyes said with a cocky smile, pointing his finger like a gun. This wasn’t grim necessity for him. It was _fun_.

Eglantine wanted to vomit.

The Outcast queen fell to her face, dead.

“Am I next?” Eglantine asked, hands on her hips to hide their shaking.

“No, Eglantine,” Reyes said, “Even if humanity didn’t need their Pathfinder, I would wish you long good health.”

Drack grunted skeptically.

Reyes held out a gloved hand, offering a handshake. “We’re partners now. Tonight, my crew takes Kadara Port. Tomorrow, you’ll have your Nexus outpost, and Kadara Port’s full protection. Open trade. And,” he lowered his voice suggestively, “my eternal gratitude.”

“Friends,” Eglantine swallowed her disgust and shook his hand, quickly dropping it and taking a step back to stand between Vetra and Drack, neither of whom bothered to hide their glares at him. “Charlatan.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “The angara need to appear to have control of their own territory back, don’t you think? The official face of Kadara Port will be Keema Dohrgun. But you; you can come to me personally. Any time.”

Not without backup, she wouldn’t. Not unless she had an entire army of krogan and turians at her back.

“Goodbye, Reyes.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said, and melted back into the shadows, off to complete his bloody coup.

“He gives shady bastards a bad name,” Vetra said.

“Yeah,” Eglantine answered. “Let’s get back to the Tempest. I want to be well on our way before the fireworks start.”

Drack clapped her on the shoulder, light for him, but still enough for the human to almost stumble. “You did good, Ryder. No one else could have handled it so well.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like a victory.”

Days later, after Eglantine had hunted down William Spender’s scrambler, stopped his allies’ plans to genocide all the krogan, and sentenced him to exile, she thought back to that moment in the Kadara cave and the solitary, broken woman who hadn’t really been any worse than the rest of them.

Sloane Kelly had been assassinated because the Pathfinder had supported the Charlatan.

It was days like this that Eglantine wished her dad was still here to handle the biggest bullshit and shady dealings. She wasn’t up to the task.

She was just a recon scout.

-

Tiran really wished his subordinates would stand their ground.

“You’re showing them guns, Sajax, not how to use a salad fork. Not everything needs to go through me.”

“Sir!” Lieutenant Sajax pointed over Tiran’s shoulder.

Eglantine strode toward them as swiftly as she could without running, biotic blue flashing across her eyes and drifting around her blonde hair like a nebula.

“Would you have tried to destroy the krogan?” she demanded, voice cracking like static, desperate tears filling her eyes. “ _Would_ you, Tiran?!”

“No,” he shook his head and answered truthfully. “Never.”

“Oh, thank the spirits,” she sobbed and fell into his arms, clutching her arms around his neck, trying to bury her face in his chest, but his armor got in the way.

He waved off the perplexed lieutenant and ushered Eglantine into his office, closing and locking the door behind them.

He sat in his desk chair, setting her in his lap because she still clung to his neck.

“Eglantine, what happened?”

“Spender,” she sobbed. “And, and Aroane. And all the others. We could have lost the krogan. _I_ could have gotten them all killed. Wiped out an entire race. I can’t handle this, Tiran.”

Ah, the plan to genocide the krogan. She’d thwarted it a week ago, but the reality had finally hit.

No wonder she’d asked him if he’d have gone along with it. Back in the Milky Way, one of the turians’ less fine moments had been when they deployed the salarian-created genophage virus on the krogan, making the vast majority of krogan births stillborn. The krogan who had made it to Andromeda still carried those genetic mutations and many were hesitant to try to have children until a cure could be developed.

“It’s done, E. You saved them.”

“But for how long?”

There was no answer for that, so he didn’t try to give one.

She sighed and hiccupped against his neck.

“Got any human food?” she mumbled. “Don’t know when I last ate.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he opened his drawer and pulled out one of the protein bars Vetra had slid him on the sly.

“Oh, chocolate,” she accepted it gratefully.

He eased up out of his seat and gently set her on his cot. She sat with her legs hanging over the side, cheerfully munching on the dry protein bar, pausing for the occasional sniffle.

She needed a break. A real rest without interruption.

He sat at his desk and signed onto his computer. Maybe he could find a secure spot for her to camp out for a few days, free from pestering eyes.

His inbox flashed with an instant message request from a user number he didn’t recognize. He clicked on it.

 _Hello, Tiran, this is Eglantine’s SAM Node_. The verification numbers flashed across the screen, confirming the source.

Tiran glanced at Eglantine, but she was focused on her food and seemed unaware that the AI connected to her implant was chatting with him.

 _How is she?_ Tiran typed back.

_The Pathfinder’s vitals are stable._

Not exactly what Tiran had meant, but the answer would have to do.

_Where does she feel safe?_

_The Pathfinder’s favorite Heleus planet is Havarl. She charged through the wild plant life and waist-high waters without fear. There is a place at the top of Mithrava, where the sages say she is always welcome. We watched giant animals cross pink and blue skies. “Flying whales,” she called them._

_Are you being poetic, SAM?_

_I have learned much from the Pathfinder._

Tiran looked back to his cot, where Eglantine had finished her snack, curled up into a ball under his blanket, and fallen asleep.

“So have I, SAM. So have I.”

Tiran’s next message was to Jaal Ama Darav.

_I’d like to spirit E away to Havarl for the weekend. No interruptions._

The angara’s answer was immediate.

_Leave it to me._

It was surprisingly easy. Within the hour, Jaal had messaged him back, saying one of his scientist friends had climbed up the sacred sanctuary and made arrangements with the sages there for Eglantine and Tiran to stay the weekend in one of their spare rooms.

_Get her to the Tempest before she thinks of an excuse not to go. Dec and I, and the rest, are already aboard._

Tiran laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Eglantine, it’s time for us to go to the Tempest.”

“Okay,” she said drowsily, accepting his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder the whole walk there. When they took the short tram ride from operations to the docks, she dozed off again for a few minutes. She was still in a daze when he led her aboard and tucked her in to her own bed.

“You stayin’ tonight?” she asked, eyes drooping.

“Yes, dear. All weekend.”

“Oh, that’s nice. But I have meetings . . .”

“Not anymore.”

“Hmm,” she hummed and fell asleep.

Tiran lay at Eglantine’s side for hours, checking field reports on his omni-tool and assuring his staff they could handle two days without radio contact from him. Once they arrived, he didn’t plan to check his messages. They were going for her, and he needed to let everything else go. The Tempest could quickly find him if there was a true emergency. In fact, with SAM, Eglantine would know if there was a problem sooner than Sajax could call him.

That was the problem. Eglantine never could escape all the demands. Good thing SAM had some organic common sense. The AI had not made a peep since welcoming them into the Pathfinder’s cabin.

“Tiran?” Eglantine sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “If you’re here, why are we in FTL?”

He turned off his omni-tool. “We’re going to Havaral.”

“Oh?” She blinked. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing. Nothing happened, so we’re going to Havarl. I don’t follow.”

“The sages have invited the two of us to spend the weekend atop Mithrava.”

“Oh,” she scratched her head and yawned. “Was there an e-mail? What do they need?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she frowned at him, awake enough to be irritated.

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “A surprise mini-vacation, E. Just the two of us. Doing nothing. For two days.”

“Oh.” She frowned again, thinking. “But what about—”

He kissed her lips, sliding his long tongue along her mouth until she groaned.

“You know what? Forget whatever I was going to say.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down into the bed for more than kisses.

It turned out to be a lovely weekend. Although a fairly dark planet, where the sky never went beyond a deep pink surrounded by deep blues, the room atop the Mithrava was cozy, warm, and had a huge window Eglantine loved to look out of.

No one interrupted them. Three times a day, Tiran found a basket outside their door, with steaming fresh bread and fresh fruits for her, dextro-friendly treats for him, and ample nutrient paste for them both. Jaal and Vetra’s doing, no doubt.

They made slow, languid love whenever they felt like it, but mostly slept. She probably slept eighteen or twenty hours their first day there. Fifteen the next. By the time they returned to the Tempest, she looked as bright and alert as she had the first time he’d met her.

-

Eglantine stood alone in the Tempest meeting room, remembering the first night she and Tiran had spent together. How he had looked at her. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. What if she failed him? What if she failed everyone?

“You okay, Ryder?” Vetra sashayed up the stairs, leaned back on the railing with a knowing look. “Lonely, perhaps?”

“Worried. Fighting Kett is simple. Pathfinding isn’t simple, but I get it. I know what needs to be done, and I enjoy it in some weird way. This relationship stuff—

“He touched me, the first time we met, and it’s like his mark never left. I’m young, and I’m stupid. Fell for a guy who runs a militia. Vetra, how can this end well for any of us?”

“No, you’re not a stupid kid. You were a veteran and artifact hunter long before you left the Milky Way.”

Sweet Vetra. With her warm steel eyes and beautiful fringe. She made peace and lucrative deals everywhere she went, was great in a fight when peace wasn’t possible, and always—always—had her back. Eglantine loved her as much as she loved Decimus and couldn’t imagine life without her.

“Need a hug? I know I’m not a proper turian.”

“You are the _best_ turian, Vetra. You are a _damn fine_ turian.”

Vetra looked at her feet, mandibles twitching. “I think you’re exaggerating my goodliness, but I’ll take the compliment. I’m lucky to have a friend like you, Ryder.”

Warmth bloomed in Eglantine’s chest. “You made sure from the get-go that you were the Pathfinder’s friend. I just went and made it personal.”

“That you did.”

Eglantine leaned back on the railing at Vetra’s side with a contented sigh.

“You two okay?” Cora came up onto the meeting deck, holding a covered tray. “It’s awfully quiet up here.”

“Yeah,” Vetra said, “Just chatting about lovers.”

“Oh,” Cora blushed. Interesting. The commando had never shown embarrassment before. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No, no,” Eglantine said, curious. “You’ve brought us some kind of present. That takes precedence.”

Cora blushed harder. Very interesting.

“Uh, for Vetra, actually. I found some dextro seeds in the cargo hold. Want to show me how to plant them? I’ve got the right dirt and proper lamps.”

“I’d love to,” Vetra’s excitement reverberated down Eglantine’s arm. Very interesting indeed. Eglantine pushed her toward the stairs.

“You gardeners go and have your fun. I’ve got Nexus reports to file.”

“You’re sure?” Cora asked.

“Absolutely,” Eglantine smiled wide.

Vetra gestured for Cora to go in front and Eglantine grabbed Vetra’s arm before the turian woman could start down the stairs.

She pulled her down to whisper in her ear. “You put those seeds near her workstation, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

“You kissed her yet?”

Vetra’s reverberating chuckle was one of the most amazing sounds turians made. “The night is young.”

“Go for it!”

E watched the two women disappear behind the automatic door into Cora's office. Whatever challenges they faced tomorrow, her friends would be there for her. And Tiran would be waiting on the Nexus when she got back.

She hadn't planned on being the Pathfinder, but she'd found a path in Andromeda. For herself, and for her heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm DAfan7711 on [Tumblr](https://dafan7711.tumblr.com/) and Pinterest. My YouTube channels are [Paragade Blues](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCIIbVf05SC_yKqhOFyZbJNQ) and Eglantine in Andromeda.


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